Baker Street re Verse
by mrspencil
Summary: A place for short fics, challenge responses and the like. No need to start at chapter one. 16/ Changed: Sherlock's thoughts at the end of "A Study in Pink". Written to wish Mrs Noggin a very Happy Birthday.
1. Kitchen help

_an:a place for odds and ends of challenge responses, short fics and the like._

_I neither own nor profit from any aspect of BBC Sherlock._

_First is a response to a challenge by AlessNox from the Mrs Hudson's Kitchen forum-"Make a new Sherlock story of any length (although 221B is preferred) that showcases a particular type of food and it's preparation." _

_A 221B (format devised by KCS) from the point of view of Sherlock._

* * *

**Kitchen help**

* * *

Today, I'll assist making supper;

I really won't get in your way.

It doesn't look hard

To avoid raw or charred;

Most people cook food every day!

~o~

John, wipe off that troubled expression;

I'm helping make something to eat!

I deduce you're worn out;

Awkward patients, no doubt;

Assistance from Sherlock; my treat!

~0~

I'll clear random things off the table,

Ignore that large luminous stain;

The remains of a drink,

Which was poisoned, I think;

I've tried household cleaners, in vain.

~0~

No! Please don't ignite our gas oven;

It's useful when something's to hide.

Remember that case

At old Milverton's place?

His bullet filled head is inside.

~0~

Now, butter and eggs will be needed,

There are some in the fridge, I am sure.

Please fetch them yourself,

But don't touch the top shelf;

The antidote's pretty obscure.

~0~

And don't take the lid of that saucepan!

Large rodents get pretty annoyed.

John, please concentrate,

You are growing irate;

A response I had hoped you'd avoid.

~0~

At last you've prepared a cheese omelet

And heated the oil in the pan

Which oil did you use?

Oh, that isn't good news…

Back away, moving fast if you can.

~0~

Our wonderful supper is ruined!

You should be completely ashamed.

It's no real excuse

To claim kitchen abuse;

The cook, not cook's help, should be blamed!

~0~


	2. Broken

_a/n: a response to a challenge from Serinah, in the forum, Mrs Hudson's Kitchen. Write a 221B, with the final sentence:_

_ "I've..." Sherlock clears his throat. "It's broken."_

_No aspect of BBC Sherlock belongs to me, nor do I profit from it._

* * *

**Broken**

* * *

A damp autumnal afternoon and Sherlock Holmes is bored;

No cases, and his violin

Brings no reward.

He scrolls through web sites carelessly; a thousand worlds fly by;

Then something on a kitchen chair

Attracts his eye.

A neat beribboned parcel piques his curiosity;

A birthday gift for Mrs H,

It seems to be.

He picks the cuboid package up, and gives the box a shake;

A puzzle of deduction here,

And no mistake.

He has the vaguest memory of John's exasperation

At failing to obtain his friend's

Co-operation.

He'd headed out to buy her gift, frustrated and alone;

While Sherlock stayed behind to check

His mobile phone.

Perhaps a china ornament? He shakes the box again.

He has to know, to satisfy

His giant brain.

He eases back the sellotape, and takes a peek inside;

His thirst for information will not

Be denied.

Temptation overcomes him and no twinge of conscience stops it

He lifts the birthday gift aloft...

And promptly drops it.

As fragments of fine porcelain are scattered on the floor;

He hears his friend and landlady

Approach the door.

A hasty sweep, a call from John. "Please bring her present out!"

John senses some reluctance then,

Without a doubt.

He eyes his friend, who's always been consistently outspoken;

A pause; "I've..." Sherlock clears his throat.

"It's broken."

~0~


	3. Broken 2

_a/n: I own no aspect of Sherlock BBC. This follows on from the previous chapter, and is also a response to reading Ennui Enigma's excellent "broken barriers", an "alternative" 221B._

_A 221B, original format as devised by KCS (with two more 221Bs within)._

* * *

**Broken 2**

* * *

Two hundred and twenty one B, written clear on the door;

With parcel held tightly; he knocked, then knocked harder once more.

Only the roar of the Baker Street traffic replied;

~0~

He shrugged and descended the steps; well, at least he had tried;

Unless he delivered it soon, he might leave, it was late.

Not keen to abandon his task, he decided to wait.

Daylight was fading as two sets of footsteps were heard;

Running, pursued by another, a second and third.

Eager to check out the cause, he observed a strange sight;

Detective and doctor and fierce looking felons in flight.

~0~

And then, as he watched, the detective spun swiftly around;

Noticed his comrade in trouble, a fight on the ground;

Did not hesitate, acted swiftly, moved in straight away;

~0~

Took hold of the box from the caller and joined in the fray.

Wielding his weapon in focused and dogged support;

Everyone rolling around as they scuffled and fought.

Nothing like this had been seen by the caller before.

Two friends stood up slowly; three villains lay still on the floor.

Yelling across to the victors, the caller declared,

~0~

"Order delivered, one porcelain figure repaired!"

Nothing could truly describe which emotions were woken;

Eyes on the chagrined detective, all words left unspoken.

~0~

"But..." Sherlock sadly examined his weapon, "it's broken."

~0~


	4. Broken 3

_a/n: I neither own nor make any profit from Sherlock BBC. This is another reply to Ennui Enigma's challenge to write an alternative 221B , a response to Book girl fan requesting the line "do you two ever stop fighting?", and also makes up the third part of a challenge from Serinah; regarding Sherlock and something broken; in the forum, Mrs Hudson's Kitchen.(follows on from the previous 2 chapters)_

_221words; original 221B format devised by KCS_

_Mrs Hudson has not had a good birthday. Sherlock and John have twice failed to ensure her present stays in one piece. Has the best landlady in London finally had enough?_

* * *

**Broken 3**

* * *

Two days since her unhappy birthday,

Too much to expect, from that pair

One presentless, partyless birthday

Because they, perhaps, didn't care.

~0~

To let it upset her was silly;

To simply forget them was wise;

One day, she assumed, they would surely

Be aware they'd caused tears in her eyes.

~0~

Tomorrow she'd visit her sister;

Two weeks to survive on their own.

One hoped that her absence might make them

Be sorry she'd birthdayed alone.

~0~

Two sounds caused the sorrowful lady

To angrily move in a flash;

One was a muffled expletive

Before a loud bone-shaking crash.

~0~

Too furious now, she sped upwards,

Two steps at a time (till the last);

One moment before flinging open their door,

Berating her tenants, aghast.

~0~

Two tenants stood frozen, bewildered;

Too startled at what they beheld.

One glare at them both was sufficient;

"Be quiet!" their landlady yelled.

~0~

"To think that I bring you refreshments!

To think that I answer your door!

One day, will you ever stop fighting?

Behave! I can't take any more!"

~0~

Two seconds, and then she refocused;

Two seconds revealed her mistake.

One overturned ladder, one birthday-themed banner

Beneath it, a beautiful cake.

~0~

Too flustered and happy, she stumbled

To take back the words she had spoken.

One beaming physician, one Holmes bearing gifts;

"Behold! Here's your present; not broken!"

~0~


	5. Life at 221B

_A/N: a fic for Ennui Enigma, containing a few of her favourite things. Happy Birthday!_

_Some verses contain spoilers for Sherlock BBC, also contains spoilers for fics written by EE, and for the contents of Mrs Hudson's Kitchen (forum)_

_I neither own nor profit from any aspect of Sherlock BBC_

* * *

**Life at 221B**

* * *

A head in the freezer; a fridge full of fingers;

An unpleasant chemical odour which lingers;

A teapot whose contents look nothing like tea;

Life at two hundred and twenty one B!

~0~

The sound of a microwaved eyeball exploding;

A Thing in the kitchen I greet with foreboding;

A cockroach at Christmas who sings just for me;

Life at two hundred and twenty one B!

~0~

A phone with the ring tone of moaning not beeping;

A night on the streets when I should have been sleeping;

Mayhem and murder both greeted with glee;

Life at two hundred and twenty one B!

~0~

Glowing rabbits,

Quirky habits,

Palace rules ignored.

At least at two hundred and twenty one B,

I've found that I'm rarely bored!

~0~

A nerve gas on Dartmoor designed to alarm us;

A small Chinese circus intending to harm us;

A young morgue assistant; a true devotee;

Of life at two hundred and twenty one B!

~0~

My comrade, hell-bent on a dangerous cab ride;

A stand-off with snipers and bombs at a poolside;

A spray-painting, vengeful and murderous spree;

Life at two hundred and twenty one B!

~0~

A landlady; housekeeper; tea-serving mother;

An umbrella-wielding imposing big brother;

A sense of belonging I could not foresee;

Life at two hundred and twenty one B!

~0~

Where his mind goes,

Only he knows;

I protest in vain.

But life at two hundred and twenty one B,

Has proved I don't need my cane!

~0~


	6. Scattered Marigolds

_a/n: this is a longer version of a poem posted as part of a drabble exchange for Eanor, on live journal, from the prompt-a mystery told backwards_

_I neither own nor make any profit from any aspect of Sherlock BBC_

_Many thanks to Ennui Enigma for helping out:-)_

* * *

**Scattered Marigolds**

* * *

Here is a body, quite still, on the ground.

~0~

Here is a pot full of marigolds, shattered.

Fragments of glass, earth and gold petals scattered.

~0~

Here in the garden, a quiet green space,

Are the signs that a desperate struggle took place,

As boot prints, torn clothing and blood leave their trace.

~0~

Here is the door to the garden, flung wide,

As the householder heard a disturbance outside:

And here is the place where he thought she might hide;

Where a hand stilled her scream, made her protests subside;

~0~

Here are the marks an intruder has made,

A scrape on the wall he climbed up is displayed.

And a wide open door, and a part-toppled spade.

And the tracks of another, part-hidden in shade;

Where someone, who stepped from the house, was waylaid.

~0~

Here, streets away, an invaded domain;

A house, which is sporting a smashed window-pane.

Where chaos, disorder, and disbelief reign

While the owner is tended, who fought back in vain;

And signs of a hurried escape are writ plain

As traces of bloodstains on boot prints remain.

~0~

Here is a mystery, not quite complete;

Who ended in triumph, who met with defeat?

So, follow the fleeing housebreaker's retreat

His panicked harsh breathing, the sound of his feet,

An amateur thief who is feeling the heat,

And entered the garden where storylines meet;

Two hundred and twenty one B, Baker Street.

~0~

Here's Sherlock Holmes at the burgled man's door,

He'd wondered what all of the police cars were for;

He studied the theft, and the marks on the floor

And looked at the footprints, observed all he saw;

Then the nagging suspicion he could not ignore,

That he'd seen this particular boot print before.

~0~

Here was a Baker Street client in debt;

When demands were refused, he had issued the threat

That his actions would lead to good cause for regret.

And now that this criminal scene had been set

Was the Baker Street home an address he'd forget?

~0~

Here's Mrs Hudson, defenceless, alone

And here is stark fear; she's not picked up her phone

As two men run faster, her fate is unknown

What dreadful ordeal has she faced on her own?

~0~

Here is John Watson, unbloodied but bruised,

Impressed at the force his antagonist used;

A large orange blanket has not been refused.

~0~

And here's Mrs H, quite upset and alarmed;

But thanks to her tenants, completely unharmed.

~0~

And here is the burglar, quite still on the ground.

~0~

* * *

_a/n 2: the poetry form is a fairly new one, called a samsong, similar to "the house that Jack built"_


	7. Lost

_a/n: Sherlock and companions do not belong to me._

_Set some time after "The Reichenbach Fall"_

_Happy Birthday Serinah!_

_POV of John Watson_

* * *

**Lost**

* * *

He knew, of course he knew,

That many days and nights had passed;

And life, despite momentous change,

Continued as before.

That what he'd lost was lost indeed,

And only foolishness

Still made him catch his breath in hope

And turn towards the door.

~0~

The colours in his daily life;

Lacked several vivid hues,

But other subtle background shades remained.

And slowly; work and steadfast friends

Persuaded him to see

That faith, and hope and love

Could be regained.

~0~

And yet, although his life moved on

A different, quieter path;

Adapting to a world not quite the same;

A part of him still gazed

At coat tails tumbling into space

And endlessly called out his comrade's name.

~0~


	8. Sartorial Superiority

_a/n: I own no aspect of Sherlock BBC. This is a response to an lj great tales challenge, and is dedicated to the ladies inhabiting Mrs Hudson's Kitchen._

_Sherlock gets a little carried away after going online..._

* * *

**Sartorial Superiority**

* * *

"Now, John, of course, so few are blessed with brains, great charm, and looks;

And fashion sense and natural flair can not be learned from books.

That purple shirt I wore has sent so many hearts a flutter;

I've blushed to read the steamy words which fan site ladies utter.

I'm even worth a second look in nothing but a sheet;

The way I draped it seemed to make so many lives complete.

A simple blue/grey scarf is just a boring knitted thing,

Until I wrap it round my neck: then choirs of angels sing.

And as for long black coats, until I tried one on myself,

They didn't sell; but now, it seems, they're leaping off the shelf."

~0~

"According to my loyal fans, my style could not be hotter;

So please delete that picture you have added of an otter."

~0~


	9. One in a Million

_a/n: written in response to a livejournal Great Tales challenge regarding female characters and posted here today to wish TheGameMrsHudsonIsAfoot a very Happy Birthday._

_200 words_

_Sherlock and friends do not belong to me_

* * *

**One in a Million**

* * *

A lady;

A landlady,

Baker Street resident;

Queen of two hundred and twenty one B.

A shoulder to cry on,

Soft words to rely on;

Producer of biscuits and brewer of tea.

~0~

A lady;

A landlady,

Soul of discretion.

A widow; late husband not grieved for at all.

Her role is much more than

Housekeeper or door man

Who puts up with spray painted smiles on the wall.

~0~

A lady;

A landlady,

Calm and supportive;

A heart full of sympathy; snacks on her tray.

A substitute mother;

Prepared like no other

For whatever those flatmates might put in her way.

~0~

A lady;

A landlady,

Martyr to hip pain;

Witness to random drug raids from the Yard.

Who copes with disorder

From client and boarder,

Weird things in the fridge and soft furnishings, charred.

~0~

A lady;

A landlady,

Stalwart defender;

Who takes on all threats to her tenants; her boys.

Those foes who don't get it

Will live to regret it;

And learn to their cost of the strength she employs.

~0~

A lady;

A landlady,

Sharp and perceptive;

Providing precisely what both of them need.

A refuge from all

The strange things which befall.

~0~

A landlady,

One in a million

Indeed.

~0~


	10. Through Shadows

_a/n: this was inspired by a quote used by The Death Frisbee in her fic "Trickster Tricked"; wishing her a very happy birthday:-)_

_Quote is from Sun Tzu-The Art of War._

_I own no aspect of Sherlock BBC_

* * *

**Through Shadows**

* * *

**If** you could read this, Sherlock,

**you** would know how hard I try; and

**know** how slow my steps are as

**the** empty days go by. The

**enemy** drew closer

**and** you chose to take the fall, you

**know** I'll always wish you saved

**yourself**, in losing

**you**, I lost it all.

**Need** I really say it's

**not** the way I saw the end?

**Fear** and helpless terror at

**the** action of a friend; the shattering

**result** of well laid plans,

**of** truth and lies;

**a** scheme I would have fought a

**hundred**

**battles** to revise.

~0~

**If** I had not believed

**you**, if I'd thought the whole thing through, I

**know** you'd still be here, you knew

**yourself**, how much that's true;

**but** blindly I obeyed you,

**not** considering at all

**the** cards held by the

**enemy**, the reasons

**for** your fall.

**Every** step is just a hollow

**victory** at best;

**gained** without you, Sherlock; (how

**you** still disturb my rest.)

**Will** nightmares fade and will I

**also** find my cares retreat? Or

**suffer **still for friendship; such

**a** bittersweet

**defeat**?

~0~

**If** you could see through shadows, John,

**you** would

**know** that I'm still here, and sadly

**neither** grief nor yearning overcomes

**the** fear. The

**enemy** is watching every single move you make; no premature

**nor** hasty move, no unrehearsed mistake. You know

**yourself**, how much

**you** strive to keep a friend from pain; I

**will** not fail, will not

**succumb** to heartbeat over brain.

**In** this, as in all cases past, in

**every** task begun; I'll guard you from these shadows till the

**battle**, John, is won.

~0~


	11. Proving the Rule

_a/n: a cascade poem written to wish the wonderful johnsarmylady a very Happy Birthday:-)_

_Set at the end of "A Study in Pink"_

_I own no aspect of Sherlock BBC_

* * *

**Proving the Rule**

* * *

The Hippocratic oath prevailed

When wars were fought and chaos threatened,

But one exception proved the rule;

Put soldier first, and doctor second.

~0~

Through days in lecture halls, on wards,

Through nights when courage almost failed,

Though triumph and through tragic loss,

The Hippocratic oath prevailed.

~0~

New loyalties, new lethal skills,

As military service beckoned;

Yet still the call to heal came first,

When wars were fought and chaos threatened.

~0~

Ex-army doctor, lining up

His gun outside a silent school;

The instinct was to do no harm

But one exception proved the rule.

~0~

No hesitation stayed his shot;

The pros and cons already reckoned.

The scene played out beyond the glass

Put soldier first, and doctor second.

~0~


	12. Unfixable

_a/n: physicians cannot fix everything..._

_POV of John_

* * *

**Unfixable**

* * *

You take a detailed history,

Examine what is relevant,

Then list your differential diagnoses,

Make a plan.

~0~

Remove improbabilities

To narrow down the options,

And formulate an answer to the problem

If you can.

~0~

You may not cure entirely,

But you hope to make a difference.

To treat, or ease, or comfort is the goal

You have in mind.

~0~

This makes it so much harder

When you're in a situation

Where the stakes are at their highest, and you're

Miles and miles behind.

~0~

When you've missed some vital elements,

Been blind to signs and symptoms,

And your list of possibilities

Is not complete at all.

~0~

And you haven't got the answer,

And you cannot fix what matters,

And you're simply left to be the helpless witness

To a fall.

~0~


	13. Robbed

_a/n: poem inspired by a conversation with thedragonaunt regarding the possible origin of the convenient lookalike body in "A Scandal in Belgravia"._

_I own no aspect of Sherlock BBC._

* * *

**Robbed**

* * *

Searching, watching, waiting, hoping;

Loving daughter, carefree sister.

One week since they heard her voice;

One week since her family missed her.

~0~

Photograph of smiling woman,

Brother caught her unawares,

Now on Missing Person poster;

Now in thoughts and fervent prayers.

~0~

Lost while walking home last Friday;

Occupation: music teacher.

Did not make her weekend call;

Mother tried in vain to reach her.

~0~

Disappeared; no rhyme nor reason;

Scattered papers, mobile phone.

Vanished on a routine journey;

Single lady; fate unknown.

~0~

Stark description graces posters:

Slim-built female, thirty two;

Long dark hair; unscarred complexion;

Dress: green floral; eyes: pale blue.

~0~

Several hundred miles away,

A body lies on white-tiled slab;

Skin stitched up, post mortem over;

Tissue samples stored in lab.

~0~

Toe-tag fastened tight and labelled;

Body thus identified.

Several hundred miles away,

They search; all hope and peace denied.

~0~

Innocent and helpless victim

Played her part in ruthless game;

Sacrificed for Irene Adler;

Robbed of future, past and name.

~0~


	14. 3 am

_a/n: John Watson and a laptop a little while after "The Reichenbach Fall"_

_Sherlock and companions do not belong to me._

_Thanks to Zaydee and Ennui Enigma:-)_

* * *

**3 am**

* * *

It was 3 am, and the only light was the laptop's glow;

And he stretched and sighed, he was up too late,

He was far too tired.

~0~

He was far too tired, and his fingers ached and his hands were slow,

Yet he did not stop, though the urge was great,

Then he felt inspired.

~0~

Then he felt inspired by his dreadful loss, his abiding grief,

And he had no doubt that he would not sleep

Till the tale was told.

~0~

Till the tale was told of the friend he'd known, and his strong belief,

And the truth he knew and the trust he'd keep,

And the faith he'd hold.

~0~

And the faith he'd hold though the grapevine meant that the rumours spread

And the lies took hold, and they multiplied

At the speed of light.

~0~

At the speed of light, through the World Wide Web, as a need was fed

To destroy his friend, even though he'd died.

He would put things right.

~0~

He would put things right, striving all he could to achieve his goal.

So he typed once more; he had much to say,

Start to painful end.

~0~

Start to painful end, from the lab at Bart's, and his new-found role

To a rooftop fall on the darkest day.

His amazing friend.

~0~

His amazing friend, his unique world view and his matchless mind

And the home they'd made and the times they'd shared;

He remembered them.

~0~

He remembered them and for once, absorbed, left his cares behind;

And the day ticked past, till he blinked then stared;

It was 3 am.

~0~


	15. Birthday Boy

_a/n: a 221B to wish Edhla a happy birthday:-)_

_Sherlock and companions do not belong to me_

___Sherlock lays down the rules..._

* * *

**Birthday Boy**

* * *

Please don't making a fuss on my birthday;

You really don't need to at all.

You don't need to bake

A large birthday cake,

Or hang up balloons in the hall.

~0~

Please don't buy me gifts on my birthday;

Your choice might be boring and dull

And parties would be

Truly loathsome to me;

I'd rather just talk to my skull.

~0~

Please don't tell our friends it's my birthday;

There's really no reason to blab;

Just let it be known

I'm fine on my own,

Attacking a corpse in the lab.

~0~

No disco surprise on my birthday;

Forced jollity isn't my scene.

Loud music, strong drink

Would be dreadful, I think,

And disrupt my well ordered routine.

~0~

No frivolous cards on my birthday

A waste of a forest of trees.

The wishes in verse

Are sickly, and worse,

Consistently failing to please.

~0~

No mystery trip on my birthday;

No funfair, no theatre, no zoo.

No circus event,

Although last time we went

Was fairly exciting, it's true...

~0~

No posh dining out on my birthday;

No oysters, no fancy champagne.

I'd have to look neat;

No comfy old sheet;

In white shrouded bliss I'll remain.

~0~

A simple night in for my birthday?

A takeaway supper and tea?

And what did you get?

The Star Wars boxed set?

Precisely how birthdays should be!

~0~


	16. Changed

_a/n: Wishing Mrs Noggin a very Happy Birthday. A poem set at the end of "A Study in Pink"._

_Sherlock and friends do not belong to me._

* * *

**Changed**

* * *

His world has changed; he's safe at last;

Scene ends with single bullet blast

Through shattered window; careful aim

Destroys a killer's lethal game;

A murderer whose time is past.

~0~

He stops mid-sentence, thinking fast;

Deductions from the clues amassed;

For now he knows the marksman's name,

His world has changed.

~0~

A twisted man; out gunned, out classed;

A wounded soldier's part; recast.

Could he, with roles reversed, lay claim

To what it takes, and do the same?

An act of friendship, unsurpassed;

His world has changed.

~0~


End file.
